Sublimation
by knoxedfiction
Summary: What if Beth wasn't taken from the funeral home? There is a lot Beth has observed about Daryl Dixon. Some of it is what she would expect. A lot more of it she could have never imagined. Beth POV, WIP.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Sublimation

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Beth/ Daryl

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Beth and Daryl stumble upon a river and uncover some things. 3000 words. Beth's POV.

Timeline: Occurs after 4x13 (Alone). If they had not been separated at the funeral home, and continued to survive while looking for the group.

When we found the stream, I thought I might cry. I don't think a human has ever kicked their shoes off quicker than I did in that moment. I ran directly into the water, clothes and all.

"It's probably ice cold." The rush of water drowns out his words. It is cold. Freezing cold. But it is glorious. All the rain we have had over the last few weeks had to go somewhere, and I am glad I can finally take advantage of it.

"It's just over waist deep." I call out to him, untangling my hair tie and shaking out the length of it.

"Waist deep for you, maybe." He watches me explore the river for a moment, his body stiff.

"Are you not going to come in?" I splash lightly in his direction.

"Nah, I don't think walking around in soaking wet clothes afterwards would be much fun."

"So take them off." I cringe as the words leave my mouth. His eyes shoot up towards me and I can feel the heat creep over my face. "I didn't mean all of them." I add quickly. His smile twists up as he walks towards the edge of the bank.

You don't even offer to buy me dinner first, Greene?" I roll my eyes to have an excuse to avoid his gaze. When I look back towards him, he is toeing off his shoes.

He's right about wet clothes though. Jeans especially. I unbutton my pants and try to step out of them as delicately as I can.

The fabric is hard to manage, but I get them off and I lift them out of the water.

"What are you doing?"

"You're right. I'll let these dry out for a bit - catch!" I throw him the balled jeans. He catches it with his hand, and stares at the unraveling sphere of blue. I yell out my apologies as he brushes water droplets from his shirt.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"I dunno. Hang them on a tree branch?" I hear him grumble something as he turns towards the tree line and I lean back to dunk my hair under the water. It feels so refreshing. I splash the water on my face and stare at the rushing water, disappearing around a bend.

Daryl returns, his fist balled around something small.

"I got you a present. Catch!" He mimics me and throws the object my way, which I scramble to collect in my open hands. I nearly drop it. And when I realize it's soap, I nearly drop it all over again. I know I must be smiling something stupid.

"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I have seen actual soap?" I look up at him and he shrugs with a nonsensical grunt. I begin to wash my face.

"You should come in. It's cold, but you get used to it." He nods, eyes scanning the tree line.

When he begins to unbuckle his belt, I turn away instinctively. A hesitant glance in his direction reveals his boxer-brief form. He hesitates when he reaches the hem of his shirt. I look away, busying myself with the soap.

I hear him step into the river.

"Shit." He all but hisses and retreats from the water.

"How are you still in there?" He asks with disbelief.

I turn back to him, mindful not to gawk. "It's not so bad. Give it a chance." I walk a little closer to him, and the water rises to my shoulders.

"Damnit, all right." He steps down from the bank and into the river again, jaw clenched.

As he sinks into the river, I work the soap into my hair. The water only reaches to just over his waist and he scans the river, looking for obstacles that aren't there.

"I don't think they could handle the stream." I address the anxiety he didn't articulate.

"It's not just dead people I'm worried about." He finally looks towards me, raking his eyes over the horizon. He begins to cup handfuls of water against his face.

"Save me some of that, would ya?" He motions to the soap. I pause my lather of never ending hair and pass him the bar.

Daryl told me the other day that he thought it had been two months since we had left the prison. The hope within me that Maggie would emerge from the forest never faltered, although even I could admit that this was the most desperate I had ever felt.

Two months since the prison, two days since something else life altering occurred.

Thinking back to that day at the cabin; moonshine and an impromptu crossbow session - that's when things shifted around me.

After everything that happened at the funeral home I felt a shift in me too.

I was suddenly and vibrantly aware of his gaze. Of his touch. Of what he said, or didn't say, as was often the case. It's true that after the cabin we didn't have the luxury of alcohol to loosen our tongues; but our revelations acted like a floodgate. He still clamped down on himself like a bear trap whenever I prodded a subject he had buried deep. The difference now was that after he finished telling me why it was none of my business to ask, he'd answer. No alcohol needed.

I liked what I learned about him. He would sometimes tell me to answer the question about myself first, which I never minded. After his silent admission in the funeral home, I discovered something I never thought I would. Yes, I needed Daryl Dixon to survive, but he needed me too.

I hadn't felt needed in a long time.

He continued to teach me how to use his crossbow, and I continued to listen. I was an unwavering support, and he would find any excuse to bring joy to our lives. To my life.

I remember one morning when I woke, body aching from the earth's uneven floor, there was a collection of tiny flowers, tied with a stem near my head. I must have mentioned how much they reminded me of the farm.

Before the world changed, I would have been embarrassed to admit, but I didn't know what intimacy was. Not physical closeness, but intimacy. Where you can be with someone and not say a word and feel at home. Or share your dreams, your hopes; who you are at your core. A closeness that dissolves personal boundaries, where you feel like an extension of someone else. Today, in this moment, I feel well versed on the subject.

Daryl communicates with his body where I might communicate in endless words. I didn't know how to interpret it immediately, if I recognized it at all. I'm beginning to understand.

When he turns away while talking to me. _It makes me uncomfortable to tell you this. _

When he says 'doesn't bother me' while walking away. _This bothers me._

When his back is to me when he speaks. _It hurts me to say this._

When his eyes flicker over mine when I answer him. _I want to hear what you have to say._

When he instinctively makes it his business to always know where I am. _You're important to me._

Two days ago we kissed. Or more correctly, I kissed him.

For nights at a time we would set up camp in the woods, different places, but the set up was always the same. Our makeshift camp provided partial coverage, and we shared the space beneath it. Taking turns keeping watch and sleeping, it did the job.

It was his turn to survey the darkness and I laid with my head close to the tree we used for both structure and a watching post. Most nights we talked. About nothing or about the most personal things. For different reasons it seemed we both felt more at ease sharing under the protection of night. I couldn't see his eyes carefully avoiding me as he revealed more of himself, and he couldn't see me blush when I did the same.

That night was no different. Except it was. The light from the moon was faint and after Daryl had been watching the nothingness for a while I heard him sit up. It instinctively made me follow his lead, heart already beginning to race.

_"Well would you look at that."_ He stood and he lowered his hand to help me join him.

_"What?"_ I said, whispering out of habit.

_"Fireflies."_ He motioned in front of us. Sure enough, a few yards away there were tiny glowing orbs. I used to see them all the time at the farm.

He turned to me, _"Stay here."_ He soundlessly moved towards the cluster and I wait. I can barely make out his outline as he gently cupped one out of the air. I stood a little dumbfounded as he walked back over to me.

_"Hold out your hands."_ I did, and he placed his in mine, folding the tiny glowing big into my hands. He lets go of my cupped hands - I can feel it fluttering against my fingers.

_"Prob'ly only have a few seconds before it will fly away."_ He said and I couldn't tell what was fighting harder, the fly or my heart. I opened my hands and the glow slowly rose between us before rejoining his family. My eyes were wide, mouth open in surprise.

_"Thank you."_ I heard myself say.

And while he was still in front of me, I lifted my head and pressed my lips against his. I instantly panicked when I felt his body stiffen against mine. _'What have I done'_ running through my head on repeat. In that split second of paralyzing fear, I felt it. The softest pressure of his lips returning my kiss.

I could feel his hand at the side of my face. I pulled back, and a million questions sprang to my lips. They didn't stand a chance when I felt his lips on mine once more, with more pressure and sureness than before. I opened my mouth under his, my hands finding his arms as a way to pull him closer to me.

He deepened the kiss, and a quiet noise of approval escaped me. My body was on fire. The tightness in my limbs was almost uncomfortable, and when my hands found skin on his arms it felt like I grabbed a live wire.

When his lips left mine abruptly, I nearly fell into him. My head spun. My whole world spun. His hand fell to my shoulder, bracing me at arms length. I suddenly felt cold fear wash over me. All I could hear was our struggling breaths and my racing heartbeat.

Out of self-preservation or something equally stupid, I muttered, _"I'm sorry."_ My voice shook, and as Daryl dropped his hand from me, I could feel the warmth in my body disappear. I wish I could take the words back, because they weren't true.

_"I shouldn't have done that."_ He said, even though I was the one who had kissed him. My heart dropped. _"I made a mistake."_ He finished, and the air in my lungs was sucked out.

_"Daryl, wait-"_ I started, but he walked into the woods and over our clanging walker rope-shield while I was frozen in place. I was breathless and the pain in my chest spread out to my limbs.

We hadn't talked about it since, although it lingered in my mind like a cancer, spreading without abandon.

Here in the river, he's somber. Washing himself, he averts his eyes from me; out of modesty for himself or for me, I'm not sure.

Needing to rinse out my hair, I lean back so the natural direction of the stream begins to remove the soap. I work my fingers through it as best I can before emerging from the water, ringing out my hair as I go.

His eyes aren't on me when I look to him, and I don't recognize the feeling that builds in my throat. When he lathers his hair, it sticks out in a million directions. I smile, a soft laugh interrupting the silence.

"Somethin' funny?" His tone is light.

"Your hair." I say nodding to the disheveled mess on top of his hair. He looks up even though he can't see it. I walk over to him, laughing.

"Here, let me." I reach up and although he has a look of apprehension, he lets me pull-up and smooth his hair into a soap mohawk. I can't help the laugh that escapes me. He reaches up to touch the tip of towering hair.

"Think this should be my new look?" He jokes. I look at him, pretending to consider it.

"Well, I don't know...might be hard to find enough gel." He huffs and I see a smile form as he flings a handful of water in my direction. I take a few steps back.

"Hey!...Punk." I mumble, fending off his splash with my own. His eyebrow quirked up.

"Whatdya call me?"

"You heard me." I say without fear.

"Smart ass." He teases and bends over, dunking his new hairstyle in the river. He rinses out the style in few sure movements. When he stands he flicks his hair, sending a spray of water into my face.

I yell out in surprise and sputter as I blink away the water. When I can see, Daryl's face is soft with humour, his hair slicked back, and a light in his eyes.

"What are you looking at?" I ask with mock venom and rub my eyes.

"You." He says it lightly and I try not to let my body react the way my heart does. _Don't be stupid_, I beg myself. His eyes stay on me and I open my mouth to speak; I end up breathing out a deep gust of uncertainty instead.

Noticing my hesitation, he teases, "What? Got any more names to call me?"

It's the clearest I've ever been able to see his face. With his hair slicked back, I can see the colour of the river in his eyes.

I don't know how the sight of him convinces me to bring it up, but I feel the words bubbling in my throat, my brain yelling expletives at me, but my greedy heart says, _don't hesitate_, it's now or never.

"I wasn't sorry." My voice cracks. It's like I turned off the world. It's so silent I can hear myself blink.

Confusion clouds his face and I press ahead on my suicide mission, "I said I was sorry, and I wasn't. I meant to kiss you. I wanted to." I realized I had squeezed my eyes shut in terror at some point during my word-vomit. When I open them, he's the one who looks scared.

He's silent for a second, running his fingers through his hair with an unsteady hand. I see how uncomfortable he is to be unable to hide behind it.

He doesn't look at me. "Then whyd'ya say it?"

"I panicked." I answer without thinking, and feel incredible heat take over my chest. I try to look away but I can't. He looks up at me with an expression I don't recognize. It's my turn to ask a question.

"Did you mean it when you said it was a mistake?" His eyes lock into mine. After a terrifying and infinite minute he swears at nothing and a resounding 'no' echoes through the air.

I feel my blood surge through me. Equally begging for me to move and immobilizing me.

"I don't know what to say." He grinds out, pushing both hands through his hair. He looks as lost as I feel.

"I don't know either." I offer. I mean it. I can see the sincerity in my voice register on his face. I step closer to him, completely unsure if it's something I should be doing.

My face feels hot, and I don't know how long it actually takes, but after eternity I mercifully feel his thumb run over my cheek. He steps closer and I feel impossible tightness in my chest, my breath halting before his lips reach mine. When they do, I know I was right.

It's instant lightning through my body, and his lips are warm against mine, if a little hesitant. A hand presses into my wet hair; a light grip pressing our lips together with more sureness. The weight of his hand brings me closer to him, until I can feel his skin against mine in the water. His free hand falls to my hip, shaping me against him. I break away to breathe and sigh at the sensation.

I return to his mouth, my arms finding their way around his neck. My mouth opens to his tongue seeking my own. My stomach flips at the touch. I can hear his throat rumble with satisfaction and I want to hear it again. He tries pulls me closer, if it were possible, I would pass right through him. Despite the freezing river I feel incredibly hot. I press up to deepen the kiss, my hand idly displacing his hair. His lips leave mine, and his hot mouth works down my neck. I audibly gasp, grip tightening.

The hand in my hair pulls my head back ever-so, and his mouth sucks gently where neck meets shoulder. I hear myself moan, but I don't recognize the sound. It causes his grip to tighten, a strangled and primal noise escapes him and I feel it in my core.

He brings his lips back up to my own, softer this time. I'm blind with light as my eyes flutter open; our lips part, but his grip doesn't lessen.

"Beth, I-" He begins, but is interrupted by the snapping of twigs. Our heads snap to the tree line.

Daryl glances to the other side of the river - home to both our clothes and his crossbow, "Shit."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Daryl grabs my arm, this time with a different but more familiar urgency.

"Get on the bank, and pack what you can." He faces the rustling trees and I begin trudging out of the water. I look back as a few walkers stumble into sight. Daryl backs up slowly, still facing them.

"Daryl-"

"Get dressed. They're loud, there will be more."

I don't feel the freezing air, I just beeline for our stuff, packing up everything within reach. Daryl has begun walking up the bank, joining me. I grab my pants from a tree branch when I hear it. The unmistakable snap of jaw on disintegrating teeth.

I spin around to see two walkers moving between the tress. Daryl has pulled on his pants, more than I can say for myself, and has thrown a shirt over his frame. Crossbow in hand, he picks up our bags and jerks his head in the opposite direction.

"I'd say we have worn out our welcome. The fashion show can wait, we gotta run."

I swallowed, pants in hand. The walkers behind me have gotten too close to ignore. When he takes off in front of me, I follow.

We run until my lungs burn. I'm sure that I will feel the cold the second I stop, but I can't force my body to move for a second more.

"Daryl, wait." I lean back against a tree and try to catch my breath. He stops and walks back over to me, breathing heavy. After a moment, my lungs aching less.

"We can go, but at least let me put on my pants first." I say it with a smile.

"Oh, there's no rush for that." My head snaps as a voice I don't recognize steps out from behind a tree. Daryl aims his crossbow at the man before I realize what's happening.

"Get your pants on." Daryl snaps without looking at me. As he speaks, more men emerge from the trees. Almost in unison, two of the men in front of me yell out, "Claimed!"

I feel something dreadful inside my chest. Claim what, exactly? These people don't look friendly. I hastily pull on my jeans, not yet dry, and shakily walk over to Daryl.

"Easy boys. Looks like we interrupted something here." The leader calls out to the two men in front of me, and a haunting lightbulb flashes over me. Daryl's shirt is open and his hair is disheveled. My pants were off. A quick touch to my hair tells me it's truly wild. Our lungs desperate for air.

"You'll have to excuse my friends here. They aren't as refined as some of us." Daryl doesn't speak, his bow directed at the moving mouth in front of him. My senses are beyond heightened. I imagine I can hear the delicate and impossible growth of the grass beneath my feet, it's so quiet.

Finally I hear Daryl's voice, "We are just passing through."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name - my name is Joe."

There is a long pause. "What do you want?" Daryl asks.

"Well that depends on what you're selling!" A man calls out from the woods, my eyes snap to him. His smile leaves me cold. Daryl roughly grabs me, pulling me against his chest. He positions his crossbow in front of me, his arms around my shaking form.

"Easy there, we don't have to make this an unfortunate situation." Joe's voice is cool and unperturbed.

"This here your lady?" Joe continues.

"She looks a little _young_ to be called a lady!" Another forest-voice notes, and this time Joe turns his full direction to him.

"Can't you see I'm in the middle of conversation? I'd like to know; what makes you think it's a good idea to interrupt me?" The silence from the chastised fills the space. Joe turns his attention back to Daryl.

"She your lady?" He asks again, his tone makes me feel that the answer to his question matters. Daryl doesn't speak. I wait as long as I can before answering.

"Yes." I sound more sure than I feel. My voice sends the group reeling,

"You let her answer for you too?" Joe asks with criticizing humour.

"She can speak for herself." Daryl answers firmly.

"Is that so? In that case little lady, why don't you tell me how old you are." I think about lying.

"18."

"Oh that's less fun." He smiles and laughs as if that would be something I would find humorous. Daryl's arms tighten around me.

"What's your name, blondie?"

"Beth."

"Well Beth, this is a bit of an unusual situation for us. You see, this here would normally happen a little differently. But, as it is, I have a proposition for you."

"Which is what?"

"My men and I are looking for someone. We could use the man power and weapons of your old man, here." I can hear Daryl huff behind me.

Joe continues, looking directly at Daryl, "Now, I'm not a gambling man, but I know a drifter when I see one. I'm willing to bet on what you are. Let's say you help us find our missing friend, and we part ways. No harm, no foul."

I try to look back at Daryl, but I'm so tight against him I can only see his clenched jaw. I can feel his heart against my back, the swell of his lungs. I know we don't have a choice, but under the weight of the men's eyes my nerves explode.

Daryl slowly lowers his crossbow around me.

"She never leaves my side." The words spark my attention before thinking of the reasons he thinks that it would be necessary to have that rule. Joe throws his hands up in mock defeat.

"Hey, what's yours is yours. We have a code here." He turns to his group, "Looks like you'll have to find your own Lolita for now, boys." There is something very menacing in his tone, and my heart races. It feels like my body is buzzing. His arm around me can surely feel it, but I am too shocked to care.

"We have a place set up south of here. We have a pretty solid lead on the direction our guy went, and we head out tomorrow morning." I can see Daryl nod. Hot fear runs through me. How long will it be before I can talk to him alone? Would we be able to leave? Some of the men glance towards me as they gather their things and I turn to Daryl, who hasn't released me.

My movement seems to awaken him, and he eases his grip. I collect my bag from the ground, getting my shoes on as quickly as humanly possible.

"I'll lead the way." Joe calls out. As he strides away, the men slowly follow suit. Daryl adjusts himself, buttoning his shirt and throwing his leather vest on from his bag.

"I'll just follow you then, Beth." One of the men says from behind us. I don't say anything, and thankfully neither does he. Daryl positions himself behind me, his mouth on my ear.

"I'll be right behind you." I feel something I don't recognize flood through my veins before I begin to walk.

xxx

After an incredibly tense walk, I learned a few things about Joe and his men. Their 'code' so far has translated into yelling out _claimed_ at anything they wanted, and once it was done, it's done. My heart freezes when I think of the men yelling it at me. It seems Joe was content to let Daryl keep me as his, and that meant off limits to everyone else. They definitely didn't agree with the ruling. Side-eyed glances and gruff whispers in my direction kept my back straight.

When we arrive at our destination, I feel exhausted. It's an old auto shop, filled with cars and trucks.

Joe turns his attention to us, "This here truck is claimed. Find a place to call it a night, we leave at dawn." I can hear the echo of 'claimed' ring out around the space, the men hoping into trucks or truck beds.

"You know Beth, you can always bunk with me." A younger man asks with a twisted smile.

"A pretty girl like you should have a nice place to sleep." He motions to his claimed car, and leans against the door.

"Give it the fuck up, Steve." Joe's voice rings out, and thankfully I don't have to answer. It's obvious there are no vehicles left to claim and I turn to Daryl.

He hasn't spoken a word, and his face looks pained.

As everyone socializes with each other or locks themselves in their vehicles, Daryl motions to me to follow him.

He heads to the farthest wall and puts our bags down against it.

"This is best place for you to sleep." He says, pulling off his vest and handing it to me.

"What about you?" I ask. He shakes he head in a clipped movement.

"Don't even think about going anywhere without me." He looks at me and I realize I have another translation to add to my list:

When he doesn't break eye contact. _I'm deadly serious. _

His face is an impenetrable shield of caution and apprehension.

"I wouldn't." I say simply.

"Not even to go the bathroom, or to check the weather, or to whatever." He adds.

"To check the weather?" I can't keep the laugh out of my voice but he shoots me a look that makes me regret it.

"You know exactly what I mean. I don't care what it is, you need to leave this spot, I leave it with you." I worry about his raised voice but my concern is for nothing. No one seems to have noticed. My eyes are wide.

"I won't leave."

He stares at me, my promise hanging between us.

After a beat he exhales, and motions to the floor, "Get comfortable." Not willing to press the issue, I sit gingerly, arranging the bags into a makeshift pillow. I stretch out against the length of wall, laying down and staring at the ceiling. Daryl sits in front of me, facing the warehouse, crossbow in his lap.

"I can take the first watch if you want."

"No." He replies. Well I guess that's that. It's hard to imagine that it was a few hours ago his lips were against mine in a fury of passion. The thought makes me blush before I realize how silly it is to think about at all.

Silly, yes. Easy to ignore, no. I'm not sure how long it took me notice. Notice the joy he had, however infrequent. That he was happy. That I made him happy. When I did realize, it's all I saw. The hope that seeped into his very being, and his innocent pause for my approval. It stopped me in my tracks every time, and I don't even think he realized it.

A soft ache fills my chest. I wish we were back under the thick canopy of trees, sharing stories beneath the stars. I can't keep the rush of air from leaving me in a sigh.

We aren't under the stars. We are under the watchful and numerous eyes of men who surely mean us no good.

I am scared, but I've been scared for a long time. I've accepted it. If it isn't Joe it would be someone else, or a _dead_ someone else. All I can do is survive the day. Survive the second. I am tired, and the weight of everything falls onto me like an avalanche. I picture Maggie's face, smiling at the farm. Our dad calling out to us for dinner and the smell of fresh bread on the wind.

xxx

I am woken suddenly buy a rough hand on my mouth, being pulled up by my head. My heart races. It's dark, and I can't see anything around me.

"Don't make a sound." It's not Daryl's voice, which is the only thing that matters in that moment.

I am quickly walked over to a door and deftly pushed through it. _Where is Daryl?_ Outside, the light of the moon does little to illuminate. The man around me presses my body up against a wall, hand still hard over my mouth.

"You're the sweetest thing I've seen in a long time." His mouth is near my face when speaks and try to turn my head from him.

His hand hits his belt, moving to unclasp the bind, and my chest seizes. I scream out against his hand, a million thoughts shooting through my mind.

It can't happen like this.

I manage to open my mouth enough to bite the flesh of his hand, which loosens just enough.

"Daryl!" I scream as loud as I can, and when his hand reconnects with my face it is with a resounding slap. My vision blurs.

"You dumb bitch." His pants were undone and as he moves for mine the weight of body disappears.

Through blurred eyes I watch as his body is yanked by the collar of his shirt, the force of the pull sends him on his back.

Daryl stands in his missing outline. My chest explodes with relief.

Daryl straddles the man, hands around his neck. The man punches at Daryl from beneath him, but Daryl's grip is like a vice.

I can picture the consequence of his actions and snap to my feet.

"Daryl, wait." My voice is thick with tears. He doesn't even flinch at my words.

Suddenly the door bursts open, most of Joe's men running out if it. They pounce on Daryl, knocking him off the nearly unconscious man.

I am invisible to them as they begin to throw their fists onto Daryl's outnumbered form.

"Enough!" Joe's voice is commanding as it penetrates the air. The men still.

"Does someone want to tell me what's happening right now?"

Silence follows. I think it's pretty obvious what's going on. I realize I'm crying when I sniff out loud.

"She wanted it." The man on the floor states, rubbing his neck. My head snaps to Daryl, who's face is marred with blood. He doesn't speak.

"Did she?" Joe asks. "Well let's just ask her. Beth, did you want something to do with Mike, here?" He motions to the man in front of me.

"No." My voice is hoarse.

"That seems pretty straightforward, Mike." The silence that follows is unbearable.

"It seems to me, gentlemen, that Mike has forgotten what it means to have a code."

Joe's face is void of emotion, "Remind him."

xxx


	3. Chapter 3

I can't watch them as they lay into Mike. Despite the circumstances, the sound of flesh meeting flesh does nothing to calm me.

I walk past Joe and his men, and I can feel Daryl hot in my heels. Inside of the warehouse I can't hold back my tears.

"Beth." I stop near my makeshift bed, unable to face him.

"I must've fallen asleep, I-" when I realize he's apologizing I whip around.

"I don't _blame_ you." I blink to clear my vision, and his outline takes over my view. He looks hurt. The danger around me sinks in.

"Did he touch you?" His voice is low and thrumming with defiance. I look pointedly at him, trying to answer with sureness.

"No." My voice is shaky, and I move towards him. He looks over me; his hand ghosts over my cheek where Mike had left his mark.

"This his handy-work?" He asks at my flinch.

"I am sure it looks worse than it feels. Are you okay?"

He jerks away as I move to touch him, but I don't let it deter me.

"Just let me look." I say, taking his face into my hands. His skin is hot to the touch, lip busted and eyes already starting to bruise.

"It looks bad." I whisper. He eventually looks back at me, and I search him for a reflection of the person he's been the last two months. Don't shut me out now. He answers my silent plea by running his thumb over my cheek, wiping my tears away with it.

"Looks worse than it feels." He says dryly, and I roll my eyes as he mimics me.

His eyes stay on mine, and open my mouth to speak when Joe enters the warehouse. He doesn't say a word, and only barely pauses at our embrace. He lingers on Daryl, before grabbing his bag.

"We leave in five."

xxx

The next few days are difficult. I try not to dwell on the ominous feeling in chest when I realize Mike doesn't join the group. I decide I don't want to know why.

Daryl hasn't said much to me since we left the warehouse. It's a deafening silence. I've grown accustomed to being the observer, but it doesn't make things any easier for me.

I feel doomed trying to articulate the feeling. His hands are constantly on me; protecting, bracing, stopping, directing. But I miss his touch.

Joe seems to have taken a notable interest in Daryl. Every so often, Daryl will be beckoned over for hunt-talks or whatever else Joe wants to ramble on about. I don't take my eyes off of Daryl, even if I try to pretend I'm not interested in what they are saying.

I'm completely invisible to the group. No one speaks to me or even looks at me. At first I was okay with it, happy even, that the incident with Mike wouldn't re-occur, but it's also unnerving. I don't know what's going on because I'm never included in the discussion and I never feel like there's never a good time to ask Daryl in the brief moments that I could get away with it. My time is largely spent out of their way and within Daryl's sight. It's a small area where those two conflicting requirements are satisfied.

I braid and re-braid my hair. I sit on the forest floor. I walk around the trees. I stare at the sky. I'm a ghost and it leaves me restless.

Our new sleeping arrangement is neither comfortable nor practical. The day we left the warehouse we walked farther than I thought humanly possible. When Joe called it quits, Daryl grasped my wrist, bringing me over to a relatively even surface.

"_Claimed!_" His voice called out as he threw down our bags between two trees. By the time we secured the area it was dark. I had sat down next to him, wrapping my sweater around me.

His fingers slid over my arm, pulling my sleeve up. I snapped my eyes to him, and saw him bring out a yard of rope.

"_What are you doing?_"

"_Nothing._" He looked at the group with heavy eyes, letting me know to keep my questions quiet. He placed his bare arm next to my own and began winding the rope around us.

"_Daryl._" I whispered to get his attention. He didn't answer, and instead, I watched loop after loop, before the rope found itself in a complicated knot, tight at our wrists.

"_Is this necessary?_" I whispered again.

"_You tell me._" He answered in deadpan. My face burned. My lips pursed on their own accord, and I tried to blink away the prick of tears I felt against the back of my eyes. His face softened and he came close to my ear.

"_If you feel safer without it, I'll untie it._" It's my right hand that's tied, and I couldn't help but think it would make fending off a walker more difficult than usual. I caught his eyes; I was met with raw concern.

"_I'll make due._" He nodded and leaned back, taking me with him.

Every night since then has been the same. Our wrists are a matching red, like a bizarre and unfinished tattoo. Coiled like a blurred rose - the ghost of a corsage. Today especially, my raw skin itches beneath my sweater and I glance at Daryl's arms. His wrist is uncovered, his skin an angry declaration of commitment. I try to remember this fact as I am ignored day in and day out.

By the time the sun sets tonight, I'm actually looking forward to having human interaction, even if it is achieved by force. I stare off at Daryl, whose keeping watch a few yards away. Another one of Joe's men comes up to Daryl and begins to speak. He glances at me, and I drop my eyes instinctively. When I look up again he is walking towards me - bow in hand against the red-orange sky. I try to look busy, which is impossible, and my pulse quickens.

"Hey." I speak, my voice thick. He nods in my direction and sits next to me.

"Got you something." His voice is quiet as he opens his bag. He pulls out a tied sack and places it in my hands. I feel the fabric, slowly undoing the bow. A large handful of berries meets my eyes. I am sure my mouth slacks.

"I'm starving...thank you." I pop one into my mouth and smile as the juice runs down my throat. Daryl leans back on his arms as I eat, staring out at the group.

"Tomorrow I'm going out to hunt." His voice is soft and his eyes don't leave the forest. "You're coming with me."

"How did you manage that?" I ask, a hope surging through me. Maybe we can talk above a whisper. Maybe I can finally do something with my day. Maybe we can escape.

"I think the bow did most of the talking." He glances at me with a slight smile and it eases me. I hold out a berry.

"Want one?"

He laughs, "No...shit makes your mouth red." My hand flies to my lips.

"Thanks for the heads-up." I keep my mouth covered as I speak.

"It doesn't look half bad on ya." Heat rises on my cheeks and I lower my fingers. The sun has almost set completely and those who aren't on watch are settling in.

Daryl rearranges himself, stretching out behind me. I finish the berries, and lay next to him. Through the trees I can see the bright specks of stars emerging from the night. I feel him dig into his back pocket before pulling out the rolled rope.

He begins to wrap it around us, looping like clock work.

"Here, pull on this piece with your hand." He motions to my free hand and I comply. In a few seconds it's done. Too tight and comfortable all at the same time.

"Think there might be a time in our near future that this won't be necessary?" I can't help but ask. He doesn't answer for awhile, scanning the men through the dark.

"I don't know. I'm not sure an amicable exit is in the cards."

"But we are going hunting tomorrow." I confirm. He takes a deep breath.

"There's a right way to go about it, and tomorrow ain't it." My heart sinks.

I go to pull my hair back, and stop when the weight of Daryl's arm anchors the movement. I can't stop the huff of frustration. Distantly, I can hear the rumble of laughter and voices as Joe and his men unwind.

A harsh wind blows through the trees and I shiver. Daryl tugs at my arm with his own.

"Come 'ere." He moves, encircling me with our bound wrists. When I lean back again it's not the earth I feel, it's his chest. After a second of shuffling I can feel the heat radiating from him. He shifts, our sides against the ground and his body a perfect outline of my own.

I close my eyes and try to focus on anything but his arm around me. Since the river, I haven't so much as dared to think about bringing up the kiss but I'd be lying if I said it was easy right now to forget.

Maybe I can't go that far, but there's hope we can talk like we used to. Night after night, staring at the stars, my mind holds a memory of dozens of conversations. I try to think of something I haven't asked him before.

"Did you ever go to a school dance?" I ask quietly. He pauses.

"No. Ain't my kind of party."

"Did you ever want to?"

"Have _you_ ever been to a dance?" He asks instead of answering. I smile unabashedly in the darkness. At least something hasn't changed.

"Yes. It wasn't a school dance though, it's one the church held every year."

"What's the difference?" He asks.

"Maybe nothing. It's a large room with nervous teenagers wanting to dance with each other but too afraid to ask."

"Sounds about right." His voice is light.

"How would you know? If you've never been?"

"I was outside of a couple." He finally answers.

"What would your kind be then?" The cold air makes me press into him even further.

"My what?"

"Your kind of party." I press.

"No party at all, really. Sad you missed your chance at prom queen?" I huff at the thought.

"No. I don't think I'd make a good candidate anyways." I fiddle with the rope around us and Daryl sucks in a breath.

"Now, that ain't true."

"What on earth makes you think that." I laugh at the thought.

"Girls like you always get prom queen, or whatever." My heart skips a beat.

"Girls like me?"

"You know what I mean." He says gruffly. I'm sure I don't, but I think I may be pushing my luck. I take a deep breath when his voice interrupts me.

"You'd be too good for it anyways." He counters himself, and I'm glad he can't see the blush on my cheeks.

"So I guess that means I can't count on your vote?" I try to keep the smile out of my voice as I ask.

"You wouldn't need it." His voice is low, close to my ear, and I feel the vibration through every nerve.

xxx

AN: I would love to hear what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

I'm wide awake before the sun even considers rising.

When Daryl sleeps, his face is stripped of every crease, every line. I don't mean to stare, but without a single distraction it's hard not to.

I close my eyes and listen to the sounds around us. Distantly, I can hear the sound of birds, the wind through the trees. Daryl's steady breathing skips and I know he's waking up.

He sits, beginning to untie our wrists from each other.

"I gotta take a piss." He stands and walks into the forest behind us. I gather up my things, slinging my backpack around my shoulders and stand before he's made his way back to me.

His eyebrow quirks up at my eager stance, but he says nothing.

I turn to him as he collects a few things together. It's barely dawn, but most of Joe's crew is waking slowly around me. I grip the the straps of my backpack, and try not to grin as he finally stands, bow in hand.

"You ready?" He asks, although it's clear he knows the answer.

"Yes." I am so ready to be away from the camp, it's all I can do not to run.

"Let's go." He takes off without hesitation, leading the way with a quiet weight in the air. His mood seems tense although I don't know if there's more reason than usual for that to be true.

I watch his back, the leather vest in a hypnotic wave over his shoulders. The weight of his bow makes his arm tense with every movement. He doesn't speak and he doesn't look back, which seems like a wasted opportunity. Haven't we been silenced long enough?

"What are we meant to bring back?" His body snaps at the sound of my voice.

Without turning to face me he answers, "Whatever we can get."

Great. I had enough practise with the silent treatment the last few days, but from Daryl? Why now? I try to stifle an annoyed sigh, and continue to follow him.

It's not too long before Daryl stops, and I pause with him. He holds up his hand, communicating I stay quiet and still. He aims at something I can't see from my angle, and the sound of a soaring arrow echoes off the trees. He walks over and I see it; a dead squirrel.

As he tosses the lifeless ball of fur into a sack, he begins to walk again. I watch him, and my irritation grows. Would it be that hard to talk to me? Look at me, even?

After awhile I don't try as hard to keep up with him. The forest is quiet, and the space between us means I only hear the air in my lungs coming and going. When Daryl is far enough away, I spot a squirrel I can claim for my own. As I walk over, it pauses. I reach out my hand, not my knife, and I feel the soft fur beneath my fingers.

"You're supposed to be killin 'em, not making friends." Daryl's voice sends the squirrel running. Of course he'd pay attention the second I wasn't vying for it.

"He'd be the only one I've got." I mumble and Daryl begins to walk towards me.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." I look in the direction the squirrel ran and envy his freedom.

"If you've got somethin t'say, just say it." He spits into the bush and I turn to face him. It isn't often that when I look at him that he looks straight back, and it throws me off guard. Suddenly I don't know what say.

I stammer for a moment as I try to articulate. Eventually he interrupts, "You're back here, making fast friends with our dinner and mouthing off, so spit it out."

Mouthing off? I can feel my face flush with anger.

"What the hell, Daryl?"

He doesn't answer me so I continue, "You think you've got a right to be angry? I'm the one who was attacked, I'm the one who is a ghost to those people, and I'm the one you're ignoring, so what do _you_ have to be angry about?"

He drops his bags and bow and comes within an inch of me. I try not to step back as he approaches.

"You think you're the only one angry about that? You ever stop to think that maybe I'm trying to do what's right-"

"_Right_? Right for who?" I ask, trying to stand my ground.

"For you! Do you have any idea how hard I'm trying to protect you?"

"Yes." I realize it's true as I say it. My answer takes some of the venom out of his eyes.

"Doesn't explain why you won't talk to me." At my words, he raises his eyes. He looks pained, and I wish I could pull the words out of his throat.

"I am talkin to you." My eyes narrow.

"Ok, then. Let's talk." Nerves grip me as I press on, "Were you just going to pretend we hadn't kissed?" I can hear the strain in my voice as I ask, and I drop my eyes.

His silence becomes too much for me to face, and I raise my eyes for a flash. His eyes are on the ground, his mouth in a half-open frozen sentence.

I can't bare it, "If you didn't like it, and don't want to do it again-"

"I never said that."

"Right. Because you haven't said anything." He swears and shakes his head.

I try again, "I don't get what the problem is-"

"I'm not tryin' to take advantage of you." He interrupts, motioning to the direction of Joe and company.

He runs his hand through his hair and shuffles around.

"What happened with us...thats not what happened with Mike and me." I pray he can understand the difference.

"Yeah? What's so different about it?" He challenges. I feel like I've been hit by lightning.

"Everything..." I can hear my stunned voice and try to catch his eyes, "For one, with you it was consensual." I feel the familiar tightness in my throat and I can't continue. The back of my eyes burn, and I feel the warmth of tears blurring my vision.

I look down and try to gather myself. I wasn't even sure how to articulate my feeling in my own mind, let alone to him.

"What happened...it's never been like _that_ before. For me." It's all I can say and I don't even know if he will know what I mean. I'm not sure I know what I mean.

He doesn't say anything and I wipe away a tear with the back of my hand. After awhile I hear him move.

"Been like what?" His voice is low. I'm relieved to hear the question, at least it's familiar territory; he needs me to go first. If only I could find the words to explain myself.

"I'm not sure what I'm feeling, but I'm certain I haven't felt it before."

Daryl glances at me. Quizzical and hesitant. He breathes out and looks through the trees. It felt good to say, even if I'm not sure what I admitted. For a brief moment I wonder if I should have waited, but where's the sense in that? Time has become a precious commodity. My dad always said that if you have something important to say, don't wait until it's too late.

I trust my dad's advice, and I trust myself.

"I ain't in the habit of late," Daryl begins, "of doing much that I ain't sure of." His voice is decisive, and my eyes snap up. I can't even begin to conceal the way my heart seizes, lungs tightening. Endless heat rises in my chest.

There's one more thing to add to my growing list of things Daryl does. When it comes to sharing he may make me go first, but he always delivers.

I open my mouth, shutting it quickly at the sound of a branch snapping around us. Daryl snaps his attention to the sound, and goes for the bow at his feet. My heartbeat quickens, and I follow Daryl as he walks ahead.

After a slow approach, Daryl sends an arrow through the air. I poke my head around him and feel the weight in my chest dissolve at the sight of another squirrel. Daryl goes for the body and I only wait a beat before turning around to head back the way we came.

I take a step and a half before my arm is wretched back, and I'm turned around in a fluid movement, Daryl's voice on the air, "Wait."

I feel before I can think. His lips touch mine with the weight of a butterfly wing - tentative, but his grip is tight. I know he needs me to show him it's what I want. I press up into him, the pressure sending waves of excitement through my limbs. His grip tightens further still at my assured movement against him.

I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck and I feel his hands move across my back. They press me against him like a seal. My back arching into him, I shift my mouth for air. His hand disappears into my hair, every part of me alights as he pulls me back against his lips with a shaking and desperate movement.

The urgency within me feels like a tightening rope. Impossible and more impossible still, every millisecond is explosive. I slide my lips over his, my tongue, tentatively seeking his own, is met with a deeper hunger. I can hear the unconscious sound of approval from within him, and my heart races. His thumb glides over my chin, gently tugging my jaw open for him, and my legs melt from under me.

A distant awareness grows in my mind; I've never been touched like this. A bolt of fear snaps through my excitment. Although there was an unending amount of innocence to his touch, there was also a certainty and purpose that my inexperienced fingers couldn't mirror.

My mouth shifts, and the way his lips fit mine wipes my mind clean. My hand finds the base of hairline, a tentative press into his unruly hair results in a tug towards him, although I don't think it's possible for us to be any closer than we are. Until I realize we can.

I pull back, breathing hard, and brace my hands against his chest. The look in his eyes barrels through me to my core. I add one more thing to my list:

When he looks at me like I'm the only thing that exists.

_I'm sure about you. _

xxx

**AN: the end? **

**There are a few of you who consistently provide really lovely feedback and to that I say: THANK YOU! I am not sure If i will continue this one any further. Maybe it is time to call it quits and move on? Either way, thank you for reading, i will post more soon, whether it is here or in a new story! **


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